by Julie James
Someone nice like Trish’s husband, Sidney mused, while grabbing her keys off the console table for the three-block walk to Starbucks. She opened her front door. Or Simon.
Simon.
As in, the man who was walking up her front steps with Isabelle.
Sidney’s stomach dropped as her mind actually processed that.
Isabelle and Simon—here.
Vaughn in the shower.
Oh.
Shit.
“Perfect timing—I’m about to explode,” Isabelle said, her words as rushed as her footsteps. “I’ve had to pee since we left Starbucks.”
Before Sidney knew what was happening, her sister barreled right past her and ran into the house toward the first-floor powder room.
No.
Simon, who wore sunglasses, gestured with the tray of drinks and paper bag he carried. “Isabelle and I wanted to say thank you for last night.” He smiled. “We brought coffee and apple fritters.”
“That’s so sweet of you,” Sidney managed.
This couldn’t be happening. If Isabelle and Simon discovered Vaughn inside her house—in her shower, no less—it would look like the two of them were . . . doing exactly what they were, in fact, doing.
With that in mind, she held out a hand as Simon tried to step inside her place. “Hey, I know—it’s such a nice day, why don’t we stay out here and enjoy our coffee and apple fritters al fresco?”
Simon made a face. “Too much sunlight.” He brushed past her, entering the house. “I don’t think I’ve been this hungover since college.” He headed in the direction of her kitchen.
Shit, shit, shit.
Sidney followed, wondering if there was any way she could at least hustle them onto her back terrace if she promised Simon a spot in the shade—or hell, a damn parasol. Anything to get them out.
Isabelle stepped out of the powder room and joined them in the kitchen. “Much better. Apparently, I’ve moved out of the nausea-and-vomiting phase of this pregnancy and into the peeing-every-half-hour phase.”
“It could just be all the juice you drank last night,” Simon said, grabbing an apple fritter out of the bag and taking a bite.
“Hey, those are for Sidney.” Isabelle came over and gave her a hug. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you before we left the bar, since somebody”—she looked pointedly at Simon—“felt sick after deciding it would be a good idea to smoke a cigar for the first time last night.”
“Word to the wise. Don’t inhale, just taste,” Simon told Sidney.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sidney noticed Vaughn’s suit jacket hanging over the back of one of the barstools. “You know, actually, I was just on my way ou—”
Simon spoke at the same time, teasing Isabelle. “Besides, I figured that I needed to start practicing for when the baby comes. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do: hang out in the delivery room smoking cigars, while you do all the womanly stuff?”
“I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you are going to be right next to me for every moment of all the stuff—womanly, or otherwise,” Isabelle said.
Sidney clapped her hands. “So. I can see you two are raring up for some sort of cute play-fight. And it would be totes adorbs to watch, I’m sure. But there’s this appointment that I’m very late for, so maybe I could call you later, Izz?”
“Huh. I don’t think you can pull off a totes adorbs,” Simon said, studying her.
Seriously.
“Is your shower running?” Isabelle suddenly asked. She looked up at the ceiling, which was directly below the master bathroom.
Think, Sinclair.
Sidney thunked her head. “Look at that. That’s how late I am for this appointment. I was rushing around so much I even forgot to turn the shower off.”
Of course, that had to be the moment Isabelle noticed Vaughn’s jacket.
She gasped and stalked around the counter. “There’s someone here.” She picked up the jacket and held it up. “A male someone.” Isabelle paused, looking a little hurt. “You didn’t tell me you were dating anyone.”
“Well, well, well, Miss Sneaky,” Simon said, with a grin. “You were trying to rush us out of here before we could meet the guy, weren’t you?”
“Who is he?” Isabelle wanted to know. “How come I don’t know anything about him?”
Simon cocked his head, staring at the jacket. “What’s really funny is that jacket looks a lot like the one—” He stopped, his mouth falling open. “Oh. My. God.” He looked at Sidney, and then peered up at the ceiling.
He stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
Sidney closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable.
Seconds later, they heard the bathroom door open. Simon’s voice thundered down the stairs. “Oh. My. God.”
“Um, did he just walk in on a complete stranger taking a shower?” Isabelle asked.
“Not . . . exactly.”
Simon strode back into the kitchen. “Yep. It’s my brother.”
Isabelle blinked. “What?” She turned to Sidney. “Vaughn’s here? You slept with Vaughn?”
“By any chance would you believe we just went for a morning run together?” Sidney asked, going for a smile.
Judging from their expressions, they would not.
“It’s not a big deal,” she told them.
Isabelle pointed accusingly. “Amanda told me she thought you two were acting flirty last night.”
Sidney scoffed. “Pfft. Amanda. What does she know?” Aside from the fact that she was, in this instance, dead-on-balls correct.
Simon pointed, too. “I remember now! You guys were huddled in that alcove when I came over to talk to Vaughn.”
“And that didn’t strike you as suspicious?” Isabelle asked him.
“Did you see me last night? I couldn’t even say ‘suspicious,’” Simon told her.
They both fell silent when the shower turned off upstairs. There was the sound of footsteps against the hardwood floors, and then everything went briefly quiet until there were more footsteps—this time heading down the stairs.
With damp hair, Vaughn walked into the kitchen while pulling on his shirt. Thankfully, he at least had pants on. “Apparently we have visitors this morning,” he said, looking slightly amused.
“We? You two are a we?” Isabelle asked.
“We are definitely not a ‘we,’” Sidney said.
“Can I have a word with you outside, brother?” Simon asked Vaughn.
Vaughn turned to Sidney. “That’s Man-Speak for ‘You’re in some seriously deep shit.’”
• • •
AFTER VAUGHN AND Simon stepped out into the courtyard, Sidney took a seat next to Isabelle at the counter. “You probably have a few questions.”
“You think?” Isabelle asked. “How long has this been going on?”
It was just a drunken one-night stand. The lie hovered on the tip of Sidney’s tongue for several moments. “The first time we hooked up was the night you had surgery.”
“I see. And how many times have you hooked up since then?”
“In our defense, you and Simon keep finding ways to throw us together. This wedding is like a damn pressure cooker.” Sidney saw her sister waiting. “Two more times. Oh, and we kissed up in Wisconsin. But that’s it.”
Isabelle blinked. “At their parents’ house? Where was I?”
“I don’t know, probably throwing up somewhere.” When Sidney saw Isabelle make a face, she decided to come clean. “You were looking at photo albums with Mrs. Roberts. I went outside to give Simon and Vaughn some bottled waters, and I just . . . needed a break from all the wedding stuff. And also from seeing you bond with Kathleen and being in that place that I was supposed to be in. So I took a walk and Vaughn followed me and we started arguing and, I don’t know . . . somehow
we ended up kissing.”
Isabelle cocked her head with a concerned expression, momentarily ignoring the part about Vaughn. “Why didn’t you tell me that all the wedding stuff was bothering you?”
“You’re doing the head-tilt.”
“Come on, Sid. It’s me.”
Sidney sighed. “I didn’t say anything because I don’t want to spoil this for you. This wedding isn’t about me, Izz, it’s about you. And I guess I also didn’t say anything, because I don’t want to be bothered by this stuff. Brody and I split up over eight months ago. I need to move on with things—which is exactly what I’m trying to do.”
“I just wish you’d told me about all this.” Isabelle nodded in the direction of the yard. “Including Vaughn.”
“I thought it would be weird for you and Simon to know that we’d hooked up, especially since it’s just a casual thing.” Sidney could hear the men talking outside but ignored it, focusing instead on what was happening between her and her sister. “I really hope this doesn’t make things weird between us. You know I would never want that, Izz.”
“I know.” Isabelle reached over and squeezed Sidney’s hand. “And I know that lately I’ve been swept up in all the wedding and baby chaos. Everything’s changing, but one thing will always stay the same, Sid: you and me.”
Sidney smiled, repeating their mantra from when they were younger. “Sinclair Sisters forever, right?”
Isabelle smiled back, her eyes misty. “Always.” She reached forward and hugged Sidney tight, then pulled back and wiped her eyes. “Now. About this thing with Vaughn.”
“Shoot. I was really hoping you’d forgotten about that part.”
“Apparently I have a lot of catching up to do. The last time you and I talked about Vaughn, I was worried you didn’t even like him,” Isabelle said.
“Okay, so here’s the part where I have to come clean about something,” Sidney said. “Vaughn and I had actually met before we had dinner with you and Simon. It was completely random: that evening, we both went to the same coffee shop beforehand. I was there on a blind date and when the other guy left, Vaughn hit on me.”
“You’re kidding.” Isabelle thought about that, then folded her arms across her chest. “So basically, what you’re telling me is that you and Vaughn have been lying to me and Simon from day one.”
“‘Lying’ is such a strong word. I’d prefer to say, ‘omitting the truth.’” She saw Isabelle open her mouth to respond. “Kind of like what you and Simon are doing with this pregnancy.”
Isabelle closed her mouth. Point taken. “Okay. But is there anything else you’re ‘omitting,’ Sid? You say you’ve slept with Vaughn a few times now. He spent the night, he uses your shower . . . is it possible, maybe, this is turning into something more than a casual fling?”
Sidney paused for a split second, then cycled through Vaughn’s greatest hits in her head.
I’m always upfront about the fact that I’m not looking for a long-term commitment.
I don’t have sex with the same woman twice in one week. That starts to get too couple-y.
I realized it’s fun to date lots and lots of women.
The pragmatic woman in her knew there could only be one answer to Isabelle’s question.
• • •
MEANWHILE, OUT IN the courtyard, Simon laid into Vaughn the moment the patio door closed.
He threw out his hands. “Sidney? Really?”
“Come on,” Vaughn said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that big of a deal? You slept with my fiancée’s sister. So now, when you do what you always do after sleeping with a woman—meaning nothing—and things get awkward between you and Sidney, next they’ll get awkward between you and Isabelle. And then awkward between you and me, and maybe even me and Isabelle. There’ll be this whole chain of awkwardness that I will have to deal with because you couldn’t keep your goddamn dick in your pants.”
“A little louder, Simon. I’m not sure the people one block over could hear you.” He led Simon away from the patio door, around the side of the townhome where Sidney and Isabelle couldn’t see them.
“Look, maybe I should’ve said something,” Vaughn said. “But the reason I didn’t was because I didn’t want you freaking out about this. Everything is fine with Sidney. Nothing is going to get awkward.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Simon demanded.
“Well, because I’ve been sleeping with her for the past three weeks and it hasn’t gotten awkward yet. Far from it.”
“What?” Simon threw his hands out again. “Three weeks?”
“Oh . . . right. You’d probably been thinking this was just a drunk one-night-stand thing.” Vaughn pretended to muse over this. “Yeah, that definitely would’ve played off a little better. I’ll have to remember that for the next future sister-in-law of yours that I sleep with.”
Simon just stared at him.
Tough crowd.
“Come on, Simon, don’t you think—”
“Shh.” Standing closer to the house, Simon shushed him. He pointed to the chest-high window about a foot behind them, which Vaughn realized was the window above Sidney’s kitchen sink.
“I can hear the girls talking,” Simon whispered. He took a step closer to listen.
“You know, if it’ll help, I could always sneak a bug into Sidney’s sugar jar,” Vaughn said dryly.
Simon gave him a look—ha, ha—then pointed to the window, still whispering. “I want to see how much trouble you’re in with my future wife, asshole.” He crept a few inches closer, then waited. He looked at Vaughn. “They’re talking about you.”
“No, really?”
Simon listened for another moment, then narrowed his eyes at Vaughn. “You met Sidney at a coffee shop?” he whispered. “This is how I find that out?”
So, apparently, they were coming clean about that now. Vaughn ducked and moved to the opposite side of the window, wondering what other secrets Sidney was spilling.
He heard Isabelle speaking.
“So basically, what you’re telling me is that you and Vaughn have been lying to me and Simon from day one.”
Across the window, Simon nodded emphatically in agreement. Exactly.
“‘Lying’ is such a strong word,” Sidney said. “I’d prefer to say, ‘omitting the truth.’ Kind of like what you and Simon are doing with this pregnancy.”
Vaughn smirked at Simon. Take that.
“Okay. But is there anything else you’re ‘omitting,’ Sid? You say you’ve slept with Vaughn a few times now. He spent the night, he uses your shower . . . is it possible, maybe, this is turning into something more than a casual fling?”
Vaughn went still, waiting for Sidney’s answer.
“Give me some credit, Izz. You know I’m smart enough not to fall for a guy like Vaughn.”
Vaughn stared at the window for a moment.
Very aware that his brother’s eyes were on him, he looked over and shrugged. “See? Told you there was nothing to worry about.”
Twenty-five
MONDAY AFTERNOON, VAUGHN stormed into the FBI office with an ax to grind.
While out grabbing a quick sandwich for lunch, he’d received an e-mail from Cade who, apparently, had dropped by the FBI building for a witness interview in another case and wanted to “talk” to Vaughn while there.
After getting off the elevator, Vaughn strode through the hallway and rounded the corner where his cubicle was located. He spotted Cade, chatting with Huxley at the cubicle across from Vaughn’s.
“Hey, we were just talking about you,” Cade said.
Vaughn folded his arms across his chest, getting right down to it. “Entrapment? We really need to have a conversation about this?”
Cade looked him over, as if sensing his mood. “You’re pissed about my e-mail? I j
ust said I wanted to talk.”
“Pritchett approached Batista,” Vaughn emphasized. “He told Batista about his group of cops who can transport anything into the city without getting busted. He asked Batista if he could hook him up with anyone who might be interested. How is that entrapment?”
“I didn’t say it was,” Cade answered calmly. “What I said was that in a case where the FBI is acting undercover as both the buyer and the seller of the illegal goods, we need to make sure that we have strong evidence of predisposition.”
Vaughn scoffed. Generally, he liked working with the prosecutors at the U.S. Attorney’s Office. He really did. And on a personal note, he and Cade had been good friends for years and he respected the hell out of the guy. But sometimes, occasionally, the prosecutors got so wrapped up in being lawyers and worrying about the big picture that they forgot that it was the agents working in the field everyday, putting their asses on the line to get the prosecutors the evidence they needed to do their jobs. “And how is Batista’s testimony not strong firsthand evidence of that?”
“I’m just looking at this through my trial lens,” Cade said. “Batista is a convicted felon. I’d rather not hang my entire rebuttal to any possible entrapment defense solely on his testimony. So, the more we can get Pritchett talking on the record about the other jobs they’ve done, the better.”
Huxley jumped in here. “Which, as I was just explaining to Cade, I believe we have covered,” he said to Vaughn. “I told him how chatty Pritchett’s been and how much you’ve been able to draw out of him during your meetings.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” Cade said. “I’m just making sure we have our i’s dotted and our t’s crossed at this point so that we don’t have a bigger problem later.”
Well . . . fine. Vaughn supposed that didn’t sound entirely irrational. “Good. Glad we got that straight,” he said grumpily.
Now that the dust had settled, Cade looked him over. “Sounds like somebody skipped his skinny vanilla latte this afternoon. Everything okay?”
Vaughn shrugged this off. “Sure, everything’s fine.” He took a seat in his desk chair.